


In the Company of Wolves

by brazenlyunabashedlyshamelessly



Series: House of Wolves [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Fluff, Happy Halloween Folks, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 05:02:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8432824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brazenlyunabashedlyshamelessly/pseuds/brazenlyunabashedlyshamelessly
Summary: Based on the prompt: I’m really, really sorry I accidentally bit you during that kissing game at the party last night, ESPECIALLY BECAUSE I THINK YOU’RE REALLY CUTE.  But, uh. I have some stuff I should tell you?





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote something I like! Me! For the first time in weeks! Holy crap! 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy. Happy Halloween to those of you who celebrate it! To those of you don't, I still hope you have a magical day!

Who the hell plays spin the bottle? Apart from a bunch of hormonal middle schoolers too shy to otherwise approach the kid who made their heart go pitter patter? That, at least, is understandable. Nervous giggles, hearts beating too fast, the quick press of one pair of lips against another’s. They’re kids, they don’t know any better.

A group of twenty somethings don’t have that excuse. 

Bucky Barnes wants to smack himself in the head. Bad enough that he’d let his best friend, Natasha Romanov, talk him into attending Tony Stark’s friggin’ party last night, even worse that he’d had too much to drink.

But the  _ coup de _ fucking  _ grace  _ had been that kiss. 

_ Fucking moron. _

_\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

**_Saturday Night_ **

The room is crowded, filled to the brim with Stark’s acquaintances. They’re all smiling and well-dressed and attractive, enough that Bucky feels like he sticks out like a sore thumb.

_ You shouldn’t have come. _

He’s just resolved that maybe he should leave. Nat doesn’t need him here, she probably wouldn’t even notice if he left.

Okay, that’s not true. She’d definitely notice, but with that lanky idiot, Clint Barton, flirting with her so shamelessly, Bucky doubts she’d mind.

Relieved, Bucky turns around to shoulder his way passed all the glittering people blocking his way to the door. A few people mutter irritably, but once they catch sight of him, they fall silent. 

Yeah. He tends to have that effect on people these days.

The door’s in sight, and Bucky has to fight the urge to make a run for it.

And that’s when Bucky sees him.

The slim blond is familiar to Bucky from all the times he’d seen the guy around Stark Industries. With his bright hair and wry smile, Steve Rogers had had Bucky’s attention from the moment Bucky had first seen him.

Coming in behind him is someone else Bucky recognises from Stark Industries. Sam Wilson is the very definition of tall, dark, and handsome. His slightly gap-toothed grin just makes him all the more attractive.

Bucky kinda hates him.

Vaguely panicked, Bucky quickly ducks behind the person closest to him. 

He’s got two options available to him right now. Either, he can get the hell away from this crowd now, and not see Steve again until Monday; or he can suck it up, and  _ maybe _ find a way to strike up a conversation with Steve. 

It’s ridiculous, how little thought Bucky has to give his decision.

Not even bothering to hide his scowl, Bucky turns back to the stupid goddamn party.

_ You better grow a pair and talk to him ‘fore the night ends, _ he warns himself. 

His pride might not survive otherwise.

     --o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--

Bucky doesn’t care what anyone says: as far as he’s concerned, Tony Stark is the devil.

Which the asshole goes  _ proves  _ towards the end of the night. 

Most of the crowd has disappeared, with only a select few of Tony’s  _ favourite _ people invited to stay behind. 

For some goddamn reason, this includes Bucky.

Still, Steve is here too, so it could be worse. 

At least, that’s what Bucky thinks for a grand total of two seconds. Because that’s when Tony opens his goddamn mouth to make the stupidest motherfucking suggestion in the history of life.

“We should play spin the bottle.”

Bucky’s eyes almost roll back into his head. How the hell this guy started a multi-billion dollar company is beyond him.

“I’m not sure that’s the best idea,” Bruce Banner says mildly from where he’s been standing--hiding--in the corner of the room.

“Oh, c’mon,” Tony complains. “Like you all haven’t been playing grab ass in your private time anyway. Besides…” And now a cocky grin crosses his face. “This could be a great night for some of you. You can finally cross  _ make out with Tony Stark  _ off your bucket list.”

“Take a deep breath,” a calm voice says beside him. Bucky glances over quickly to see that Nat had managed to sidle over to him without his noticing. “Wouldn’t do for you to rip someone’s throat out.”

“Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” Bucky mutters, acting like those very images hadn’t been dancing around his head. 

“Uh-huh.”

The others are still arguing about the merits of playing spin the bottle. Like they’re in fucking juniour high.

“You know what,” Clint chips in suddenly. “I’m in.” The idiot waggles his eyebrows in Natasha’s direction.

“I really like him,” she murmurs to Bucky thoughtfully.

“He’s an idiot.”

“That’s part of the appeal.” In a louder voice, she adds, “Count me in.”

And that marks the end of any resistance. One by one, everyone agrees to the stupid fucking spin the bottle idea.

Even Steve.

_ For God’s sake. _

“Yeah, fine,” Bucky grumbles. “I’m in too.”

From beside him, Nat lets out a low laugh. 

She’s the friggin’ worst.

     --o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--

The only good thing to come of this so far was when Natasha had spun the bottle and landed on Pepper Potts. Bucky isn’t really one for sapphic displays, but the look of horrified arousal on Tony’s face makes it worth it.

Each person takes their turn. Clint kisses Natasha; Tony kisses James Rhodes, a buddy of his; Sam kisses the cute British intern, Peggy Carter.

And then it comes to Steve.

“Do I have to?” he asks half-heartedly. Tony and Clint boo him loudly.

“Too late to chicken out now, man,” Sam tells him with a broad grin.

“Ugh.” Then, with a last roll of his eyes, Steve spins the bottle.

It comes to a slow halt, pointing directly at Bucky. 

He almost stops breathing.

     --o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--

_ Okay, Barnes, you can do this. Just keep calm. _

The little pep talk is about as useful as taking a fly swatter to a friggin’ three hundred pound gorilla’s ass. Bucky can feel his libido straining the tight leash he keeps on it.

_ Last time I go to one of Tony Stark’s parties,  _ ever.

Course, he might not get invited again, not if he can’t keep a lid on his other half.

Beside him, Natasha’s gone completely still. He knows that she’s ready to grab him and drag him out the second she thinks he can’t control himself.

“Uh, you don’t have to, if you don’t want to,” Steve says. He’s blushing furiously, and it’s then that Bucky realises that he’s been sitting there like a fucking dumbass for at least thirty seconds. 

_ Moron. _

Bucky wants to offer some kind of reassurance, but at this point it’s all he can do to keep from snapping his teeth. Taking a deep breath, Bucky moves to close the distance between himself and Steve.

Having Steve this close is intoxicating, and feeling his breath against Bucky’s lips is enough to make Bucky head swim. 

And when he feels Steve’s mouth against his?

Yeah, the whole control thing isn’t going to happen.

Things start out soft and chaste--for about a second--before Bucky deepens the contact with a low groan. The people around him forgotten, all Bucky can focus on is the scent and feel of Steve against him.

He nips Steve’s bottom lip without thinking.

_ Oh, shit. _

Jerking himself back away from Steve, Bucky becomes aware of the catcalls and cheers around them. Steve’s eyes are wide, his cheeks flushed.

There’s a tiny bead of blood on his bottom lip.

Before Bucky can do anything else he regrets, Natasha’s gripping him by the back of his shirt, and jerking him to his feet.

“Looks like someone’s had a little too much to drink,” Nat says in a deceptively light voice. Her fingers are digging into his neck, likely leaving bruises. “We’ll see you all on Monday, okay?”

Dumbly, Bucky allows Natasha to steer him out of the room.

He’d fucked up. Big time.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**_Sunday Morning_ **

Bucky hadn’t slept at all last night. Recriminations chasing themselves around his head, all Bucky could do was wonder how the hell he could’ve been so reckless.

_ See, this is what happens when you think with your dick. Instead of getting a date, you turn the guy you like into a goddamn  _ werewolf.

Possibly.

Slouching down over the kitchen table--where he’s been sitting ever since Natasha dragged his sorry ass home--Bucky bangs his head against the wood. When that doesn’t help, he does it harder.

He cracks the goddamn table.

Lycanthropy fucking sucks.

Bucky hadn’t been born a werewolf. Sometimes, he thinks that might’ve been better. Maybe, if he’d grown up with it, he’d have a better handle on the whole control thing.

Instead, Bucky had been bitten. 

Out on an early morning run through the park, he’d stumbled across what he’d thought was an injured dog. 

So, because he’s a goddamn idiot, he’d flipped off even the slightest whiff of common sense, and had gone over to see what he could do to help the animal.

Only for the fucking asshole to bite him.

Irritation spiking, Bucky snatches up his cell phone to send Natasha a text.

**I fukin h8 tony.**

After all, if Tony hadn’t gotten drunk and tripped over a tree root, slamming his head into a rock and stranding his dumb ass in the forest that night, Bucky wouldn’t have found him there. He wouldn’t have tried to help a goddamn _werewolf_ , and he wouldn’t have been bitten.

Getting to his feet in one quick movement, Bucky paces the length of his tiny kitchen. He needs to tell Steve, even though Steve will probably end up calling the cops on him. The alternative, though, is unthinkable.

Bucky had gone through the transition all on his own.

After a trip to the doctor to check for rabies--which might’ve been preferable--Bucky had pretty much put the incident to the back of his mind, except for the times he’d scowl down at the scarring on his left forearm. 

That’s why, when the insomnia and headaches had started, Bucky hadn’t connected it to the dog bite.

Although, who the fuck thinks being bitten by a stray dog will result in those kinds of symptoms?

For six weeks, things had gotten progressively worse. Until, one night, his body had begun to… change.

Agony had ripped through his body. Muscles knotting, bones shifting, the transition had been excruciating. His senses had sharpened, sending spikes of pain through his head; too much light, too much sound, it’d felt like his skull would splinter apart.

The worst part was the confusion, the terror that he'd lost his mind.

It’d happened four times before Tony and Natasha had found him, on the verge of turning himself in for psychological evaluation. Before that, Bucky had lost his job, his home, and his parents had convinced themselves that he’d become a drug addict.

For a moment, he imagines Steve going through that. Everything fucked up because of a stranger’s impulsiveness.

_ No. _

That’s not going to happen, not if Bucky has anything to say about it.

Snatching up his keys and phone--no reply from Nat--Bucky leaves his fourth floor apartment, heading for the stairwell rather than the elevator. He pauses only long enough to take a quick whiff to ensure that he’s alone before he uses his enhanced speed to make it down the steps. 

The stairwell door hasn’t yet closed by the time he reaches the ground floor.

     --o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--

Brooklyn isn’t the ideal place for a werewolf to live. Too many people with too few open spaces,  _ not ideal _ is probably an understatement. But whatever. He’s too stubborn to let this stupid fucking…  _ disease _ … or whatever it is, take his home from him too. 

It’s not a long walk to Steve’s apartment, and Bucky wonders if it’s weird that he knows where Steve lives. 

Almost certainly. 

Security in Steve’s building sucks, Bucky notes with disapproval. Any asshole could just walk in, and do whatever the hell they wanted. 

Bucky chooses not to acknowledge the fact that he is just such an asshole. 

Once again opting for the stairs, Bucky heads up to the third floor. While the floor and apartment number isn't on anything Bucky had seen, it's easy enough to follow Steve’s scent up to where he lives. 

_ So fuckin’ creepy.  _

God, if he were Steve, he wouldn't want anything to do with this fucking shit show. 

Unfortunately, Steve might not have that choice. 

_ Okay, here we go.  _

Bucky comes to a stop outside where Steve’s scent is strongest. Again, it strikes him as so supremely friggin' weird that he's here. He and Steve had only ever spoken that one time, on the elevator at Stark Tower where Steve had asked him to press the button for the seventeenth floor. And oh, yeah, there was that time last night where they'd kissed and Bucky  _ had fucking bitten him.  _

Before he can give into the urge to pussy out, Bucky knocks sharply on 4F’s door. 

A few minutes pass with no answer. Bucky’s patient, though; he can hear Steve moving around inside the apartment. There’s the sound of something falling over, and Steve lets out a low curse. Even as anxious as Bucky is, the sound makes him grin. 

He likes that Steve’s got a potty mouth.

Finally, the door swings open, and Bucky comes face to face with a bleary eyed Steve. Unable to help himself, Bucky allows his gaze to travel over Steve’s slight form. All he's wearing is a pair of pajama shorts and a vest. For a second, neither of them speaks.

“Uh, hi,” Bucky says uncomfortably.

“What're you doin’ here?” Steve is staring at him incredulously, and Bucky just wants the earth to open up and swallow him. 

The events of the last last twenty four hours was not how he'd wanted their first interactions to go. 

Licking his lips nervously, Bucky’s gaze drops down to the floor. Steve isn’t wearing shoes.

“I wanted to talk to you about last night,” Bucky mutters.

“Wha--? Bucky, do you even know what time it is?”

“Um… no?”

“It's six thirty. In the morning. The sun isn't even out yet.”

Oh, yeah. Bucky had noticed it was kinda dark outside, although he hadn't paid too much attention to that fact. Which he probably should've, because no one he knows likes being woken up at the ass crack of dawn. 

This just keeps getting getting worse. 

“Sorry.”

There are gonna be a lot of those this morning. 

For another long moment, Steve simply stares at him. Just when Bucky thinks that that call to the cops would be coming earlier than he'd anticipated, Steve lets out a soft sigh. 

“Come on in,” he says, stepping aside. 

That’s a relief. Bucky offers a Steve a grateful smile as he comes in. But before he can say anything--what the hell can he say right now?--Steve beats him to it. 

“How'd you know where I live?”

“Uh, I asked Tony for your address,” Bucky lies. Because let's not start this conversation off with too much weirdness. 

“Wait, you're friends with Tony Stark?”

Okay, that's actually pretty weird too. But Bucky's not going to hedge this one. 

“Not really.”

“But you’re okay with asking him for a colleague's address.” Steve’s eyebrows are threatening to disappear into his hairline by this point.

“I swear to God, I’m not a stalker. Just, with what happened last night, I really needed--”

“Hold up,” Steve interrupts. “This isn’t a conversation I can have without coffee. You want some?”

More caffeine on top of how he’s feeling? It’s a terrible idea.

“Yeah, thanks.”

While Steve busies himself in the kitchen, Bucky just remains awkwardly standing in the living room. It’s a sparse room, with only a few worn pieces of furniture. There isn’t even a TV. On the coffee table, Bucky spots a sketch pad and a small, stubby pencil.

“You can sit if you want.” Steve is giving him this perplexed look, and why the fuck is this happening? Before this whole lycanthropy thing, Bucky used to be smooth. Cool and confident. Now, he’s a goddamn klutz who can barely get a word out without putting his foot in his friggin’ mouth.

_ Ugh. _

Giving a chagrined nod, Bucky drops into one of the couches. It gives an alarming creak at Bucky’s weight. For a tense moment, Bucky expects the damn thing to break apart and dump his ass onto the floor.

That would be keeping with the theme of this morning. But thank fuck, the couch holds, and Bucky gets the opportunity to embarrass himself some other way.

“So, you know that you didn’t have to come all this way just to tell me you’re not into me,” Steve says conversationally as he emerges from the kitchen. He’s a mug in each hand, and carefully sets one in front of Bucky.

“Wait, what?” 

Steve rolls his eyes. 

“C’mon, look at you.” He gestures at Bucky impatiently. “I wasn’t expecting anything else to happen so you can, y’know, unclench.”

It’s like Steve’s speaking an entirely different language.

“What the hell are you talkin’ about?” Bucky asks, temporarily distracted.

“You’re Mr-Tall-Dark-and-Brooding,” Steve huffs. “And you’ve got this stupid face, and the ridiculous hair. Like, dude, life is not a photoshoot.” He scowls over at Bucky, and the expression would be kind of cute if what he was saying wasn’t so goddamn absurd. “I’m a skinny asthmatic who can barely make it up a flight of stairs without gasping for breath.”

_ I can think of another way to get you gasping for breath, _ Bucky thinks darkly.

“So, like I said, I wasn’t expecting anything. Although, it was nice of you to come over and… I dunno, let me down easy, or whatever.”

“Let you down--” Bucky cuts off, and rubs his hand over his face tiredly. This is absolutely  _ not _ what he’d come here for, but there is no way in hell he’s letting this go.

“Plus, with the way your girlfriend dragged you outta there--”

“Natasha’s not my girlfriend,” Bucky interrupts. “And if she hadn’t gotten me away from you, I’d have probably ended up humping your leg.”

There’s a long, awkward silence.

_ Please, God, if you’re out there, now would be the time to kill me. _

God apparently has bigger priorities than Bucky’s mouth working independently of his brain.

Quickly getting to his feet so he no longer has to meet Steve’s wide eyed stare, Bucky begins to pace. It feels like his insides are shaking with the anxiety and embarrassment, and he has to take a deep breath to get a grip on his emotions.

“Okay, we’ve gotten  _ way  _ off topic,” he says, keeping his back to Steve.

“Ya think?”

_ Snarky punk.  _

_ I really like him. _

“What I wanted to talk to you about is, after we kissed, I kinda…” Bucky makes the mistake of turning back around, and loses track of what he’s saying. 

_ God, Steve really is gorgeous. _

“Uh, Buck? You still in there?” Steve asks when all Bucky does is stare at him.

_ Shit. _

_ Okay, the only way you’re actually gonna get through this is if you just fuckin’ spit it out. _

“Last night, I bit you,” he blurts out. “And, uh, that’s kind of a problem.”

“Gonna have to disagree with you there, Buck.” When Steve sees the confused look on Bucky’s face, he shrugs. “It was hot.”

_ Stay on message. Don’t think about that, just stay on message. _

It’s with that at the forefront of his mind that Bucky says what he does next.

“I might’ve turned you into a werewolf.”

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, just a quick note: I don't hate Tony Stark. It's just for the purpose of this part of the story. 
> 
> Also, I'm thinking this may be part one of a three part series. We'll see. But I'm definitely going to work on it.


End file.
